In Clive's Command eBook

“That’s as it turns out, Dickon.
But what is it with you, old man? Is aught amiss?”

“Not wi’ me, sir, not wi’ me, thank
the Lord above. But I seed ya, Measter Desmond,
t’other day, in speech win that—­that
Diggle as he do call hisself, and—­and I
tell ya true, sir, I dunna like the looks on him;
no, he binna a right man; an’ I were afeard
as he med ha’ bin fillin’ yer head wi’
fine tales about the wonders o’ the world an’
all.”

“Is that all, Dickon? You fear my head
may be turned, eh? Don’t worry about me.”

“Why, sir, ya may think me bold, but I do say
this. If so be ya gets notions in yer head—­notions
o’ goin’ out along an’ seein’
the world an’ all, go up an’ axe squire
about it. Squire he done have a wise head; he’ll
advise ya for the best; an’ sure I bin he’d
warn ya not to have no dealin’s win that Diggle,
as he do call hissen.”

“Why, does the squire know him, then?”

“‘Tis my belief squire do know everything
an’ everybody. Diggle he med not know,
to be sure, but if so be ya say ‘tis a lean man,
wi’ sharp nose, an’ black eyes like live
coals, an’ a smilin’ mouth—­why,
squire knows them sort, he done, and wouldna trust
him not a ell. But maybe ya’d better go
on, sir: my old shanks be slow fur one so young
an’ nimble.”

“No hurry, Dickon. Lucky the squire was
used to London hours in his youth, or we’d find
him abed. See, there’s a light in the Hall;
’tis in the strong room next to the library;
Sir Willoughby is reckoning up his rents maybe, though
’tis late for that.”

“Ay, ya knows the Hall, true. Theer be
a terrible deal o gowd an’ silver up in that
room, fur sure, more ’n a aged man like me could
tell in a week.”

“The light is moving; it seems Sir Willoughby
is finishing up for the night. I hope we shall
not be too late.”

But at this moment a winding of the path brought another
face of the Hall into view.

“Why, Dickon,” exclaimed Desmond, “there’s
another light; ’tis the squire’s own room.
He cannot be in two places at once; ’tis odd
at this time of night. Come, stir your stumps,
old man.”

They hurried along, scrambling through the hedge that
bounded the field, Desmond leaping, Dickon wading
the brook that ran alongside the road. Turning
to the left, they came to the front entrance to the
Hall, and passed through the wicket gate into the
grounds. They could see the squire’s shadow
on the blind of the parlor; but the lighted window
of the strong room was now hidden from them.

Stepping in that direction, to satisfy a strange curiosity
he felt, Desmond halted in amazement as he saw, faintly
silhouetted against the sky, a ladder placed against
the wall, resting on the sill of the strong room.
His surprise at seeing lights in two rooms, in different
wings of the house, so late at night, changed to misgiving
and suspicion. He hastened back to Dickon.

“I fear some mischief is afoot,” he said.
Drawing the old man into the shade of the shrubbery,
he added: “Remain here; do not stir until
I come for you, or unless you hear me call.”